Rejection: Publishing Murder Mystery (Lou Drake Mysteries) (9 page)

And Drake could tell he was surrounded by desperation. Again and again that morning he had stood near people who were trying to pitch their writing project to an agent or a publisher. The scene always seemed to play out the same way, with the quick summary of the book, polite interest that stopped well short of enthusiasm, and finally the obligatory offer: “You can send me the first ten pages if you like.” Drake knew full well that very few of those exchanges resulted in the agent asking to see the full manuscript, let alone an offer to sign the author and represent the book.

Drake wondered, not for the first time, if that desperation could be a factor in the Petre and Orland murders. In the old days he would have examined that question with detachment, treating it as one more direction in which he could point his investigation. Now, however, he found himself dwelling more on the story behind the events. What was the killer feeling that made him decide to go down that dark path? What had his early life been like that made him capable of such acts?

Drake suddenly had the prickly feeling of being watched. Feigning stiffness, he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and rotated his head to look around. He immediately made eye contact with a woman across the room that quickly diverted her gaze. He recognized her as the black-clad, outspoken feminist from the bookstore. The other members of the group were there as well.

As he returned to his sandwich, Drake tried to pinpoint the sad expression he had seen in Franny’s eyes. After a moment’s reflection, he realized her furtive look spoke of the same emotion that filled the whole place — desperation.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

DRAKE CONTINUED WORKING on his new novel. Two weeks after beginning he was up to five thousand words, fleshing out a story about a cop much like himself and using the two murder cases as inspiration. He placed the story in San Diego and enjoyed learning about the climate, people and details of the city. He found himself longing for the sunny climate, since October had brought clouds and rain to New York and the last of the autumn leaves now covered the ground like Mardi Gras confetti.

He made good use of the reports Serena had dug up for him, and he was also hungry for more information. His imagination and years of experience helped him craft a realistic story, but he believed there was no substitute for details from the actual cases. So Drake casually asked around about the murder cases. Most of the cops shrugged in ignorance or simply blew him off when he asked. Collins, however, had a stronger reaction. The two happened to be standing outside the door to the men’s room when Drake asked him what was up with the investigations.

Collins stared at him for a moment with a distinctly unhappy expression on his face. Drake was about to tell him to forget it when Collins abruptly grabbed the front of his uniform and pushed him inside.

Drake shoved Collins away from him. “What the hell?”

“Look Drake,” Collins said, pointing his finger. “You’re poking your short-time nose into places that don’t concern you.”

“Hey, I was there when it started and—”

“And you fucked up, remember?”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna forget that.”

“You should be thanking me instead of getting in my way. The only reason Andrade cut you some slack was because I asked him to.”

The rest room door opened and Thibido walked in. “Hey guys, don’t mind me. Keep on with whatever you were doing before I got here. I won’t tell anybody you’re queer for each other.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Collins growled.

Thibido shrugged and headed for a urinal.

Collins turned back to Drake. “We need to finish this conversation. Meet me at Molly’s Saturday morning at 10:30.”

“Hey, we’re here now. Say what you’ve got to say.”

Collins glanced in Thibido’s direction and then glared at Drake again. “Saturday,” he said. “Be there.”

Collins ripped open the door and stalked out.

Thibido chuckled as he started washing his hands. “Aw, are you girls having a fight?”

“Go do your mother,” Drake spat and followed Collins out the door.

Back in the cage Drake fumed. He was so obviously steamed that the three ladies gave him his space.

He couldn’t wait to be out of there. Five more months and he’d be able to write full time. Hopefully he’d publish a bestseller and show everyone here that he could be a success.

Drake’s internal tirade was interrupted when Chief of Detectives Henry Smythe came through the Station door. The Chief was medium height and dressed smartly. Drake thought he carried himself with the grace of a man you expected to have a British accent. Smythe paused a moment to look around and then approached the counter.

“It’s Drake, right?”

For a moment Drake was at a loss for words. He certainly knew who the Chief was, but he wouldn’t have expected the man to remember him. It had been since before his demotion that he could remember the two of them meeting.

“Yes sir,” Drake said. “I’m honored you remember me.”

“I’m here to see Captain Andrade. You happen to know if he’s in his office?”

“He’s not back from lunch, Chief, but he’s usually back about this time. You want some coffee while you wait?”

“No thanks. I’m early, so I’ll just hang out.

“Very good sir.”

“What are you reading back there?”

Smythe pointed at the paperback beside Drake’s computer keyboard.

Drake showed him the cover. “Andrew McAllister. True crime.”

“I know McAllister. Did you read NIGHT ANIMAL?”

“I did. It was good, but I liked BRUTAL FORCE better. It’s about dirty cops.”

“Sounds good. Maybe I’ll look for it.”

Smythe handed the book back through the opening in the cage enclosure. He gave Drake a thoughtful look. “You’re close to retirement, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir, in a few months.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Sir?”

“I’ve talked to a lot of retiring cops and it seems about half of them can’t wait. The other half are scared to death. They have no idea what they’ll do with themselves in the civilian world.”

“Bit of both, I think. I’ll miss some things, not others.”

Smythe seemed to consider him for a moment, and then looked at Drake’s colleagues.

“Can you ladies give us a minute?”

This caused some raised eyebrows, but Serena said, “Of course.”

The women stepped into the adjoining office and closed the door. Drake felt like he was unable to draw a full breath as he waited to hear what the Chief had to say.

“I remember you and the Hennings case,” Smythe said once they were alone, “and these latest murders in your neighborhood got me thinking about it again.”

Drake tried to keep his tension from showing in his face.

“Yes, that was an unfortunate situation.”

“May I ask you a question? And I mean no disrespect.”

The last thing Drake wanted to do was answer to questions from the Chief of Detectives, but he knew he had no choice.

“Sure.”

“I guess I’m interested in your point of view. I mean, how could a case as airtight as that go south? I remember we all had you pegged as a good Detective, and that doesn’t seem to square up with the kinds of mistakes mentioned in the official reports.”

Drake’s heart was beating so hard he feared it would rattle the windows. Sweat dampened his shirt and his tongue went dry. Why the hell was the Chief of Detectives yanking his chain right out of the blue like this?

“Well,” Drake said. “I paid for those mistakes.”

“I can see that,” Smythe said softly.

Drake felt as violated as when Collins pushed him in the men’s room. Could this day get any worse?

“Look sir, that all happened years ago. I’m not sure what I could say that hasn’t already been said a hundred times.”

Andrade gave him a perfunctory nod, as if that put an end to that topic. “I knew your father. He was a good cop.”

“Hello Chief,” Andrade’s voice boomed from the hallway. “You’re early.”

The Chief turned to face the newcomer, and Drake felt like he was being released from the principal’s office.

“Yes,” Smythe said, “but your fine officer kept me entertained while I waited.” He looked back at Drake. “We’ll talk some more another time.”

Andrade and the Chief started down the hallway, but Smythe paused and then walked back to Drake. Drake’s adrenaline spiked again. What now?

“By the way,” the Chief said, “how’s Officer Dodd?”

“I heard he’s doing okay. He’s out of the hospital and on the mend.”

“Been down to see him?”

“No, but I’ve been meaning to.”

“I suggest you do that.”

Smythe rejoined the Captain and the two disappeared down the hallway.

When Drake looked down, a business card bearing the seal of the City of New York was sitting on the counter where Smythe’s hand had just been. Drake stared at it for a second, then quickly snatched it up and put it in his pocket. He didn’t know what this meant, but it felt like something serious had just happened.

He walked to the adjoining office and opened the door.

“All clear,” he said to the ladies.

Serena gave him a raised eyebrow as she joined him in the cage. “You in trouble?”

Drake slumped down in his chair and blew out a tired breath. He felt like a heap of limp noodles.

“I have no idea.”

* * *

The killer closed his laptop and nodded to himself with satisfaction. The news sites had nothing on the murders and that was fine. His efforts were not designed to create media coverage, at least not yet. The timing had to be perfect to generate the greatest amount of attention at the right time. It was all part of his plan to maximize the coverage and the buzz. That what sells books; those flapping lips, people emailing each other and, oh, that lovely media frenzy. Trouble was if the story broke too soon the buzz would peak, falter and a new scandal or fad would take over. The fickle people of the world were so easily distracted and today’s calamity became yesterday’s fish wrap.

In the meantime he had another demonstration to plan. He chose each of his prey with great care, so the list of candidates was short. All the victims lived in Malcolm, which was intended to heighten the attention and generate hysteria within the small community. This in turn would create fear and gain the attention of the whole city, then the state, the country, and eventually the world.

* * *

Serena finished scanning a batch of documents, carefully archived the originals in a plastic box and wrapped the seal with cellophane tape. While the computer hard drive chattered away on the last of the documents, Serena moved over to the Hennings boxes and continued her reading. She separated a stack of documents and found a sealed, water-spotted envelope at the bottom. It was addressed to the former captain before Andrade. She cut open the envelope with a blade, carefully extracted the letter and unfolded it. Serena held a photocopy of a letter from former Chief of Detectives Alvin Fitzpatrick to Andrade’s predecessor Captain Peter Holloway.

03/24/1999

Dear Captain Holloway,

I am disturbed by the outcome of the Hennings murder investigation and the subsequent allegations of mishandling of evidence, the accusations of falsified and planted material, and the suggestion that the case was compromised by the actions of Detective Lewis Drake. I have examined the findings, and though compelling, I have a difficult time believing an officer as qualified and respected as Drake could be responsible for the actions detailed in this report. I have followed the Detective’s career and know his work on other cases. I am requesting additional investigations into this matter and will be present when Detective Drake is questioned at the inquiry on April 12th.

A special board of impartial investigators will be appointed to handle the processing of the findings. This special coalition and my office will decide whether any disciplinary actions should be taken against Drake or other involved officers.

Besides this concern, I am surprised by your department’s refusal to reexamine the evidence and attempt to make a new case regarding the murder of Angela Hennings. Despite the unavoidable dismissal of much of the current evidence, it seems there is more than enough to still effectively prosecute Joshua Hennings.

Please be prepared to explain your actions when we meet on April 5th.

Regards,

Alvin B. Fitzpatrick

NYPD Chief of Detectives Precinct One

New York, NY

“Holy shit,” Serena said under her breath.

She wondered if Drake even knew this letter existed. Regardless, she was going to make sure he saw it. She closed the Hennings box, put the letter back in its envelope, and carried it upstairs to find a photocopier.

When she got to the cage, Serena saw Thibido at the counter talking with Edna. Thibido nodded in Serena’s direction.

“There she is,” he said.

Edna smiled at Serena and returned to her desk.

“What do you need?” Serena asked, approaching the counter from the inside.

“Captain wants to see you in his office right away.”

Serena waited a moment to see if he would leave, but Thibido just stood there looking at her. Apparently he was going to accompany her to the Captain’s office.